In all her brightness, from the dancing crest
Far as the last gleam of the filmy train
Extended and extending to sustain
The motions that it graces-and forbear
To drop his pencil! Flowers of every clime
Depicted on these pages smile at time;
And gorgeous insects copied with nice care
Are here, and likenesses of many a shell
Tossed ashore by restless waves,

Or in the diver's grasp fetched up from caves
Where sea-nymphs might be proud to dwell:
But whose rash hand (again I ask) could dare,
'Mid casual tokens and promiscuous shows,
To circumscribe this Shape in fixed repose;
Could imitate for indolent survey,
Perhaps for touch profane,

Plumes that might catch, but cannot keep, a stain;
And, with cloud-streaks lightest and loftiest, share
The sun's first greeting, his last farewell ray?

Resplendent Wanderer! followed with glad eyes
Where'er her course; mysterious Bird!
To whom, by wondering Fancy stirred,

Eastern Islanders have given

A holy name-the Bird of Heaven!

And even a title higher still,

The Bird of God!* whose blessed will

She seems performing as she flies

Over the earth and through the skies

In never-wearied search of Paradise

Region that crowns her beauty with the name
She bears for us-for us how blest,

Compare Robert Browning's poem on Guercino's picture of The Guar

dian-Angel at Fano

"Thou bird of God."

-ED.

How happy at all seasons, could like aim

Uphold our Spirits urged to kindred flight

On wings that fear no glance of God's pure sight,
No tempest from his breath, their promised rest
Seeking with indefatigable quest

Above a world that deems itself most wise
When most enslaved by gross realities!

DESPONDING Father! mark this altered bough,*
So beautiful of late, with sunshine warmed,
Or moist with dews; what more unsightly now,
Its blossoms shrivelled, and its fruit, if formed,
Invisible? yet Spring her genial brow

Knits not o'er that discolouring and decay
As false to expectation.

Nor fret thou

At like unlovely process in the May

Of human life: a Stripling's graces blow,

Fade and are shed, that from their timely fall
(Misdeem it not a cankerous change) may grow
Rich mellow bearings, that for thanks shall call :
In all men, sinful is it to be slow

To hope-in Parents, sinful above all.

[Suggested on the road between Preston and Lancaster where it first gives a view of the Lake country, and composed on the same day, on the roof of the coach.]

*

FOUR fiery steeds, impatient of the rein.

Whirled us o'er sunless ground beneath a sky

Compare the Excursion (Vol. V. p. 130), and the Sonnet beginning"Surprised by joy, impatient as the wind,"

(Vol. VI. p. 71.)—Ed.

As void of sunshine, when, from that wide plain,
Clear tops of far-off mountains we descry,
Like a Sierra of cerulean Spain,

All light and lustre. Did no heart reply?
Yes, there was One;-for One, asunder fly
The thousand links of that ethereal chain;
And green vales open out, with grove and field,.
And the fair front of many a happy Home;
Such tempting spots as into vision come
While Soldiers, weary of the arms they wield
And sick at heart of strifeful Christendom,
Gaze on the moon by parting clouds revealed.

[The fate of this poor Dove, as described, was told to me at Brinsop Court, by the young lady to whom I have given the name of Lesbia.]

[Miss not the occasion; by the forelock take
That subtile Power, the never-halting Time,
Lest a mere moment's putting off should make
Mischance almost as heavy as a crime.]

"WAIT, prithee, wait!" this answer Lesbia* threw
Forth to her Dove, and took no further heed;
Her eye was busy, while her fingers flew

Across the harp, with soul-engrossing speed;

But from that bondage when her thoughts were freed
She rose, and toward the close-shut casement drew,

While Soldiers, of the weapons that they wield
Weary, and sick

1835.

* Miss Loveday Walker, daughter of the Rector of Brinsop.-See the Fenwick note to the next sonnet.-ED.

Whence the poor unregarded Favourite, true
To old affections, had been heard to plead
With flapping wing for entrance. What a shriek
Forced from that voice so lately tuned to a strain

Of harmony a shriek of terror, pain,

And self-reproach! for, from aloft, a Kite

Pounced, and the Dove, which from its ruthless beak She could not rescue, perished in her sight!

ROMAN ANTIQUITIES DISCOVERED AT BISHOPSTONE, HEREFORDSHIRE.

Comp. 1835.

Pub. 1835.

[My attention to these antiquities was directed by Mr Walker, son to the itinerant Eidouranian Philosopher. The beautiful pavement was discovered within a few yards of the front door of his parsonage, and appeared from the site (in full view of several hills upon which there had formerly been Roman encampments) as if it might have been the villa of the commander of the forces, at least such was Mr Walker's conjecture.]

WHILE poring Antiquarians search the ground
Upturned with curious pains, the Bard, a Seer,
Takes fire-The men that have been reappear;
Romans for travel girt, for business gowned;
And some recline on couches, myrtle-crowned,
In festal glee: why not? For fresh and clear,
As if its hues were of the passing year,
Dawns this time-buried pavement.
Hoards may come forth of Trajans, Maximins,
Shrunk into coins with all their warlike toil :

Or a fierce impress issues with its foil

From that mound

Of tenderness—the Wolf, whose suckling Twins
The unlettered ploughboy pities when he wins
The casual treasure from the furrowed soil.

*

[Written on a journey from Brinsop Court, Herefordshire.]
WHEN human touch (as monkish books attest)
Nor was applied nor could be, Ledbury bells
Broke forth in concert flung adown the dells,
And upward, high as Malvern's cloudy crest;
Sweet tones, and caught by a noble Lady blest
To rapture! Mabel listened at the side
Of her loved mistress: soon the music died,
And Catherine said, Here E set up my rest.
Warned in a dream, the Wanderer long had sought
A home that by such miracle of sound
Must be revealed :—she heard it now, or felt

The deep, deep joy of a confiding thought;
And there, a saintly Anchoress, she dwelt

Till she exchanged for heaven that happy ground.

Pub. 1835.

[This lady was named Carleton; she, along with a sister, was brought up in the neighbourhood of Ambleside. The epitaph, a part of it at least, is in the church at Bromsgrove, where she resided after her marriage.]

By a blest Husband guided, Mary came

From nearest kindred, Vernon 1 her new name;
She came, though meek of soul, in seemly pride
Of happiness and hope, a youthful Bride.

O dread reverse! if aught be so, which proves
That God will chasten whom he dearly loves.

1

1837.

From nearest kindred,

1835.

* The Ledbury bells are easily audible on the Malvern hills.-ED.